


stardust (to remember you by)

by Tiny_Dragongirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Doctor Who References, Driving Lessons, False Identity, Gen, Magic and Science, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Star Wars References, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl
Summary: The ballad of missing memories, fake identities, and driving lessons, told by Peter Parker, one hell of a masochist.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange





	stardust (to remember you by)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imgoingtocrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgoingtocrash/gifts).



> Written for the Friendly Neighbourhood Exchange.  
> Title from the song [Boats and Birds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn4EIv1-uz0) by Gregory and the Hawk.  
> Many thanks to [flannelgiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelgiraffe/pseuds/flannelgiraffe) for betaing!

“Most traumatic _Doctor Who_ experience? The Doctor taking Donna’s memories. Yep. Definitely the worst moment.”

I remember having this conversation with Mr. Stark multiple times. We had it when we were planning a _Doctor Who_ rewatch. We had it again and again during the rewatch: after _Father’s Day_ (“But she met her dad! See, that’s consolation.”), after the second season finale (“I knoooow, but she’ll return!”), after almost every Christmas special (“sad but not traumatic”)... and so on. Yeah, we had it pretty often.

“She had all these amazing adventures and now she can’t remember them. Like she has never even met the Doctor! This is awful. This is hell.”

“Is that so? I think the Doctor had it worse. They had those adventures together and now she can’t remember neither those nor her friend. And it was his doing, because he wanted to protect her.”

“Yeah, thanks for making me feel more awful about it.”

I remember having this conversation multiple times—and that’s my point. That _I_ remember it but Mr. Stark doesn’t.

We didn’t finish our rewatch. The last episode we saw together was _The Pandorica Opens_ which is a pretty stupid episode to stop at because it’s the first part of a double but I kept nodding off and Mr. Stark became really insistent on sending me to bed. It was stupid to start watching it because I felt sleepy but I pushed and thought I could stay awake for two more episodes. Maybe if I had known that Mr. Stark’s memories would be taken the next day, I would have tried harder. Or I would have found a better way to spend the time we had together than rewatching a TV show that both of us had seen already.

My point being: I remember, he doesn’t, it sucks and guess what? It’s my fault.

Of course, it could be worse. Right now the whole world thinks Mr. Stark is dead—at least I know that isn’t true. But he could be actually dead… and it could also be my fault. Okay, stop right there.

I check the street as I park my bike in front of MotorCar Supreme, then walk into the garage. Mr. Stark is at his workbench tinkering with a fuel pump, waving an oily hand at me.

“Just a mo’, kid!”

The scene looks familiar, it even feels familiar, except, of course, for the minor details, such as:

  1. Mr. Stark is called Tucker Ford now.
  2. He’s a car mechanic (the proud owner of MotorCar Supreme, in fact).
  3. As far as he is concerned, he has been repairing cars all his life. Only heard about Ms. Potts from the news, and for him, Tony Stark is just a dead billionaire. Me? See, he has known me for a month now, which is a new record for us.



I shouldn’t be here at all. This (me being here) isn’t part of the plan.

The first day after The Plan I argued with myself if I should do it. I was pretty sure I shouldn’t do it but since I’m the only one who knows where Mr. Stark lives AND he can’t remember being Iron Man, ergo he can’t protect himself, I thought it was my duty to check on him. From a distance, no Spider-Man involved. It would be suspicious if Spider-Man took a sudden interest in an ordinary car mechanic, right? Right. So I took the— but no way I will give out the directions. Anyway, after a few days I started going by bike everywhere, so I could take unexpected U-turns and throw off the enemy. Paranoid much? Maybe but we all know what they say about preferring to be safe rather than sorry.

In my defense, I tried to share this burden with Ms. Potts. It didn’t go very well.

“Peter, you know Tony’s exact whereabouts.”

“Yeah, but I can tell you—”

“No, no, I don’t want you to tell me. Peter, I trust you because Tony trusts you. The secret is safe with you. My connection to him is too obvious, and even though Tony likes to call me strong-minded, I know that I couldn’t resist Doctor Doom’s mind-probing if it came to that.” She flashed me a quick smile but I only gulped. The whole point of the plan was to divert Doctor Doom’s attention long enough to find a solution without people getting hurt. Mind-probing would be the opposite of that. “Nothing lasts forever. I miss him but I know that one day you will bring him home.”

So while I decided I was doing good by checking on Mr. Stark, I feel like I’m betraying Ms. Potts’ trust with every visit. And I visit every day. Oof, I’m horrible.

“Okay, kid, ready for today’s lesson?” Mr. Stark’s voice snaps me out of my dark musings. He tosses me the car keys, I catch them at the last second. I really need to get it together. “Whoa, nice catch! That’s good, keep those reflexes up and running!”

On autopilot, I go to open the door but he stops me before I can climb into the driver’s seat.

“Everything all right? You’re unusually quiet today. Anything to share with the class?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing, really. Can’t stay long, though. School stuff.”

His frown tells me that he doesn’t believe me but in the end he just shrugs and motions to me to get in. “If you say so… But the moment you lose focus, you’re out of this car, capiche?”

“Yes, sir. I know the rules. Eyes on the road and stuff.”

“Okay.” He fastens his seatbelt. “Drive on, kid.”

The familiar nickname doesn’t really help, but I can’t mention it, can I? Mr. Stark has zero idea what it means to me, because, as I said, he doesn’t remember me. Yet he is giving me driving lessons. Crazy, huh? Totally not part of the plan. I mean, the plan inside the original plan, aka the very badly carried out plan of me lurking around an hour or so every single day— But I think I mentioned it before.

I lasted two weeks, though! After all, am I a masked vigilante or what? Too bad Mr. Stark cornered me after two weeks of keeping watch, and that was the end of my foolproof plan. (Foolproof because it proved that I was a fool.)

It happened like this:

“Alright, kid, spill the beans.” My spider-sense tingled just a second before I heard his voice behind my back, and in my instant panic I almost bolted from the scene—forgetting that I was only halfway through in unchaining my bike… “Uh-oh, no running away!” Mr. Stark put a hand on the seat. “I just want to talk.”

“I’m sure every candyman says that,” I grumbled because. Appearances.

“Cheeky, huh? Excuse me, young man, but I’m not the one loitering around my garage. I’ve noticed, you know.”

I actually contemplated attempted burglary as an excuse. Sorry, sir, I’m a kleptomaniac with specific cravings, can’t resist a nice pair of pliers.

“I— I just really like cars.”

I know. Lamest excuse ever.

Mr. Stark snorted, which was a very obvious sign of not believing me, but I tried to keep it cool.

“What? Just because I don’t own one, I can appreciate a car.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“High time to get your driving license.”

“Tell that to M—” I stammered. “To my mum.”

A blatant and unnecessary lie—Doctor Strange told me quite clearly that only one thing can trigger the memories—but I didn’t want to mention May’s name, just in case.

“I see. What’s your name, kid?”

“Ned. Ned Leeds.”

Sorry, Ned.

“Nice to meet you. Name is Tucker Ford, and I have an offer for you.”

I should have declined his offer, I guess. But once again, secret driving lessons sounded better in my head—and also sounded like the grey area where I can operate.

Today’s lesson is parking practice. There is an empty storehouse with an even emptier parking lot just a few corners away, and I drive us there to spend an hour or so with parallel parking.

“Good job, Ned.”

The Mr. Stark who has his own memories would say something like “Good job, Princess Vanellope!” or “Now _this_ is podracing!”. After so many movie nights he would come up with something.

“Thank you.” I lean back with a sigh. “I think I’m done for the day.”

“Yeah. Let’s just sit here and rest before we drive back, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Mr. Stark unfastens his seatbelt and turns as much as he can, trying to face me better.

“High time for us to talk.” Does panicking count as resting? Because I almost go into full-on panic mode at his next words. “You see, I figured out who you are.”

I have no idea what he means. Did he figure out that I am Spider-Man? He did it once, and maybe he doesn’t possess his memories now but he still has his extremely high intelligence. Also, uncovering me as Spider-Man sounds way better than any other option. He couldn’t have figured out that my name is Peter Parker, not Ned Leeds, and that he isn’t Tucker Ford, but Tony Stark, superhero, genius, philanthropist, billionaire etc. presumed to be dead. No way. That would be an impossible task, even for him.

“Hey, don’t look so freaked out. It’s alright. I know that—”

He is cut off by a loud bang and the dent appearing in the roof of the car. At least as a mechanic he has the right set of skills for the problem because my spider-sense is once again proven to be simply useless.

“What the hell?”

Yeah, right, fair point. I could ask the same but I already suspect that the situation has got something to do with Doctor Doom. Which is confirmed when he lands, personally!, on the hood. Unbelievable.

I take in our surroundings and try to calculate our chances. Me behind the wheel? Ugh, definitely not our best option. We have to leave the car. Now.

“To the warehouse! Run!” I shout at Mr. Stark because as sad and trivial move as it is, that building is our best chance right now.

Much to my relief, he doesn’t question my decision—he has probably come to the same conclusion. I follow him so quickly I forget to unfasten my seatbelt and it snaps. A minor detail, really, compared to the dent in the roof _and_ in the hood. Also, no time for seatbelts when Doctor Doom is launching through the windshield. At this rate, Mr. Stark should just buy a new car.

Luck seems to be on our side just this once (a rare treat indeed) because the lock on the warehouse is already broken. Don’t deal drugs or sneak a smoke/drink in abandoned warehouses because it’s bad for your health but. I’m glad that someone broke that lock, may it be a drug-dealer or whatever.

We rush inside and try to bar the door with an iron stake. Another good thing: abandoned warehouses always have iron or steel stuff just lying around. That, until someone gathers and sells them.

I frantically try to come up with a plan that involves sneaking out and getting into the suit without leaving Mr. Stark alone. That door won’t hold Doctor Doom off, so the situation really calls for Spider-Man. Maybe if Mr. Stark already knows… Maybe if that’s what he has hinted…

“You wanted to talk about something,” I say as we run to the far end of the building. There is a promising back-door.

“Not the best time for that!”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear but I give it another go. “I think you should tell me. Or—”

Or the back-door will be blasted towards us and we will have to duck behind a pile of very convenient barrels. Exposing Spider-Man to Mr. Stark’s memory-less self sounds like a good idea now. Great, in fact. I’m more worried about revealing my identity to Doctor Doom, actually. Yeah, probably should have thought about it sooner. All my latest plans _suck_.

Maybe it’s time to give some details about the original plan.

The circumstances were something like these:

I was chasing a couple of bad guys, and somehow ended up in the middle of a gang war?! I know, I know. Before I could have done anything, Karen alerted Mr. Stark (that’s baby monitor protocol for you…), and there he came, all armoured and everything. We took down the guys, that was the good part, before it all went downhill (just like those bad guys, ha-ha). I’m not exactly sure what happened but I’m pretty sure it was my fault, so.

Suddenly we were being chased into an abandoned hospital, by a tiny magic-fuelled robot. Creepy, right? I would have been more awed if it hadn’t tried to find its way into Mr. Stark’s head. And I mean literally. I had to keep it back with my webs! It didn’t really help, though, but then Doctor Strange barged in and told us that it had been Latverian tech, actually, in case we were interested.

“Great! And what does it want from me?”

“Your body.” I guess if Mr. Stark hadn’t been struggling with the robot, he would have had a funny come-back for that. “Doctor Doom programmed it to attach to your memories.”

“Even greater! Can we un-program it?”

See, if we had been at the lab, I’m sure Mr. Stark would have found a solution. But we were in an empty and dilapidated hospital, surrounded by too many _if_ s.

“It uses a technology combined with powerful magic, I can’t just un-program it! Not without hurting you—and although I’m tempted to try…”

“There must be something we can do!” I interjected with a classic line. Too bad I would have preferred to sound less desperate, but I was kinda strained.

“Thank you for the input.”

“Oi! Leave the kid alone. Mr. Magic Tricks.”

I swear it was the ‘Oi!’. It gave me an idea—one of my worsts, as it later turned out.

“Can’t we block his memories? If the magic links the robot to the memories, maybe we should hide them. Make them untraceable! Until you figure out how to get rid of it, of course. Could you do that?”

Doctor Strange wasted some precious seconds with thinking but I couldn’t blame him. Mr. Stark’s mind was at question!

“It’s not impossible. But it would mean repressing _all_ of your memories.”

Yeah, I think I couldn’t feel the true weight of that in the heat of the moment.

“So what? I would just wander around like an amnesiac hobo?”

“I could give you a fake personality. Less famous, no Iron Man etc., so you can lay low. It’s complicated but could be done. All you need is a word that will trigger your memories—and a secret keeper who knows that word, of course. Only the keeper’s voice will have the necessary effect on your mind.”

Now it sounded very Harry Potter.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Peter, you choose the word.”

“Wh-what?” I stammered. Things were turning into a dangerous direction. “It should be Ms. Potts!”

“We don’t have the time. I know it’s a lot to ask but it has to be you.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“I trust you. It’s going to be alright.” We all know the rule about saying ‘it’s going to be alright’. People start dying after sentences like this. “Just pick a word. Anything.”

I hesitated. Gripping harder my webs that still held onto the robot, I tried to think of something that made sense to both of us. Then I said the word and Doctor Strange raised a cynical eyebrow.

“Really?”

“It’s a _Star Wars_ reference, you big Jar Jar Binks,” Mr. Stark grunted, clearly at the end of his rope.

“Okay.”

The rest of it? We went with the plan, and it did get the robot off of Mr. Stark—also, knocked him off. I brought the building down so we could fake his death. Telling Ms. Potts that the love of her life was alive but amnesiac? Not the greatest moment of my life.

To think of it, this isn’t the greatest moment of my life either.

“I hope he thinks we are under that door,” I whisper.

“Who? The green-caped robot guy?”

“Yeah.”

“If he burst that door, why is he coming through the ceiling now?”

“What?” I didn’t know that Doctor Doom had the taste for playing the Hulk but apparently it's a classic bad guy move to kill the party by bringing down the rooftop. But if he has got nothing to do with the backdoor— “Doctor Strange!”

“Wow! Green-caped guy versus red-caped guy! Do you have any popcorn on you?”

“This is not funny!” I roll my eyes but the effect is ruined by an iron pike embedding itself into the wall right above us.

This place sucks.

Mr. Stark nudges me. “Should we try to, dunno, get away?”

One glimpse at the situation paints the accurate picture of our chances. It’s a blank canvas. We have zero chance to leave our shelter without revealing my identity to Doctor Doom or getting hurt.

“Nah. Those guys have PhDs in magic and are doing some serious fireworks. High chance they will bring this building down upon us.”

Again, why do I always have to end up in collapsing buildings?

“I really wouldn’t mind a bowl of popcorn at least.” Mr. Stark leans back against the wall with a sigh. “I wish the circumstances were different but— You were right. We’ll have to have this talk right now, right here, before this place goes sky-high. Or down on the tops of our heads, whatever.”

Oh, the talk! Almost forgot about it.

“Right. As I said, I figured out who you are. I know that you are my son.”

What.

Like seriously.

What?!

“I’m sorry but what the—”

“Ahaha, don’t even think about finishing the sentence!” He awkwardly pats my arm. “At first, I didn’t know what to make of you. I didn’t peg you for some creepy stalker, no, those Bambi eyes are too full of innocence. If anything, you looked rather lost. Also, you looked strangely familiar, and see, a long ago I had this phase when I didn’t have serious relationships, just flings— Yeah, not the role model but it was high time that my past came and bit me in the… butt. By the way, who is your mother? No, wrong question! Also, very low morales. I guess your mother doesn’t know you found me, does she?”

“I— I—”

I really don’t know what to say.

“It’s okay. This isn’t how I imagined this conversation either. I wanted to talk to you, and I wouldn’t have minded a DNA test— Not that we are going to die here! We can still have that test later. After all, one can’t be sure—but it’s been only a month and I feel like I’ve known you forever. Did you see _Star Wars_? I hope you did because with everything going haywire around us, this is totally a ‘Luke, I’m your father’ moment.”

Oh, bugger it. I have to do something before he goes for our first father-son hug and I totally lose it.

“Yes, I saw _Star Wars_. All of them. Multiple times, in fact. You remember _Rogue One_?”

“Yeah?”

Judging by the confused look on his face, this conversation isn’t going where he planned but oh boy, tell me about it.

“And the codename for the Death Star plans, do you remember? _Stardust_.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, I see a shift in his eyes. I hold back my breath because there is still a 50 percent chance that his brain will turn into goo under the overload of memories— then there it is. Recognition.

“Mr. Stark?” I ask tentatively because I still calculate with a 30 percent chance of delayed brain-melting, but he flashes me a very himself smile.

“Hi, Peter.”

Yeah, about that. It’s such a perfect moment, one of the kind that usually gets ruined by magic-fuelled mind-probing robots. Alas, it is late for the party. Such a rare treat, I’d feel almost relaxed if Mr. Stark didn’t choose this very moment of standing up and waving at Doctor Strange.

“Stark! I can see you are back to your old self—hanging around, watching other people do the dirty stuff for you…” He opens a magic portal right in front of us, throwing a chest piece at Mr Stark. “Pepper sent this to you!”

“First-name basis, huh? Should I be jealous?”

With the help of the chest piece the nanobots assemble the Iron Man suit around Mr Stark. Good thing he doesn’t really need it anymore—it would have been one hell of a backstory to be pieced together for Tucker Ford having an ARC reactor…

“Boy, get lost!” Ah, the familiar Iron Man voice. Also, the familiar heat of a repulsor blast right next to me, nearly scorching my ear. But it results in a very convenient hole in the wall for me to sneak out and suit up. All these theatrics to protect my identity; I’m flattered.

I count to fifty before I swing back into the building, kicking a new hole on a different side because it doesn’t matter at this point.

It is a nasty fight, three against one but Doctor Doom should have thought about it sooner. Although when it’s Doctor Strange who pulls out the mind-probing robot, I freeze long enough for Doctor Doom to twist my web and slam me into a still-standing wall— But what the hell, Doctor Strange?! (Footnote to myself: way too many doctors around!)

Turns out, he changed the settings so now he can use it against Doctor Doom. It’s kind of a low blow, turning a shiny ball of high-tech and magic into a pair of shiny handcuffs but it’s just my humble scientist opinion. Anyway, Doctor Doom only gets what he came for. He will be handed over to S. H. I. E. L. D., so the professionals can lose him. I don’t think he will stay locked up too long, sooner or later there will be a mole to dig him out, pardon my pun.

“So, that was something.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark agrees before turning to Doctor Strange. “Tucker, really? And Ford? For a car mechanic? Your imagination was running really low, wasn’t it?”

“You’re welcome, Stark. I was happy to spend my free time saving your life. Both of yours, actually.”

“Wait, how did you get here so quickly?” Fair enough, my question is kinda dumb. By magic, of course. But how did he know what was going on?

“I sort of let Doctor Doom find you and struck at the right moment?”

“Bastard. If you hadn’t just saved my butt, I’d punch you for endangering the kid’s life.”

“I’m a superhero! I can protect myself,” I protest. Not that I did much of protecting but let’s not dwell on details. “Can we just go home now?”

Because at the end of the day even superheroes go home. Spider-Man to Aunt May, Iron Man to Ms. Potts. I’m sure they have a lot of catching up to do.

“Sure. I’ll open you a portal. Apparently I’m your safe-guard and transporter now.”

“Great, thanks. Just give us a moment, will you? The kid needs to grab his backpack. Teenagers today. Backpacks lying around all the time. Right? We’re grabbing your backpack now. Outside.”

Mr. Stark steps out of his suit and I pull off my mask. He steers me outside (this time through an already existing hole), and I think we are about to have a moment. Which is great! The last month wasn’t fun—Tucker Ford was a cool guy but I missed the real Mr. Stark. I just don’t want to talk with him about the ‘I’m your father’ incident. At least, I don’t want him to pass it off as a joke, something like we are not there yet.

“So, um, Peter. I hope you have a faint idea about how grateful I am to you.”

“I guess but I didn’t really do anything? Doctor Strange did the hard work.”

Mr. Stark snorts. I share the sentiment—Doctor Strange and hard work sound strange in the same sentence. I know that magic is hard work, I read every Harry Potter. Maybe the posh white-handed attitude is part of the act.

“Anything apart from keeping my identity safe.”

“But I didn’t do a good job, did I? I should have stayed away.”

“I’m glad you didn’t stay away.”

And now he is enveloping me into a hug. It feels nice, cozy and surprisingly tight. I could get used to it. In fact, I’m already getting used to it. But no need to be clingy, right? Okay, not the best word choice probably. I can cling to walls, which makes me—

“I can hear you thinking, squirt. Everything fine? Is this okay?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

“Good. Get used to it. Tucker Ford was one lonely butthole.”

He lets go of me and for the first time I take a proper look at his face. I should have noticed that thin layer of sadness underneath the Tucker Ford appearance. I guess I was just too busy being sorry for myself.

“Kid, I’ve never thought I would live to see the day when I say this but you’re super unusually quiet. Anything to share with the class?”

“May I say that I’m sorry?”

“Whatever for?” Mr. Stark sighs. “Fine. Will it make you feel better?”

“Think so.”

“Great. Can I say that I’m sorry for putting you through this whole Donna—Doctor drama?”

I can’t help but crack a smile at this. Wow. What a nerd.

“By the way, hope you’re free for the weekend. We need to tackle a ton of _Doctor Who_ episodes and even more chocolate ice cream.”

“Sounds cool. Get it? Cool because—”

“Shut it, kid.” He playfully slaps my arm. “We should head back before Doctor Knows-It-Better pops a vein.”

“About that— I should collect my bike. I mean, de-suit first, then just bike home.”

“Okay, kid.”

“See you this weekend then?”

“What weekend, Luke Skywalker? You have a driving lesson with your old man tomorrow.”

“Sure, Lord Vader.”


End file.
